


the axe forgets, the tree remembers

by Flamingbluepanda



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Implied/Referenced Islamophobia, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Reunions, Romance, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Torture, Waffle House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamingbluepanda/pseuds/Flamingbluepanda
Summary: Almost seven months after the events in London, Kozak comes out of the woodwork with a mysterious partner and evil intent and kidnaps Joe. His family is ready to tear the world apart to get him back.Meanwhile, a man with amnesia wakes up in New York...
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 41
Kudos: 297
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	the axe forgets, the tree remembers

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the first fics I ever started for this fandom, and I cannot BELIEVE it's done. To everyone here from the discord sever; yes, finally, this is THE amnesia fic.
> 
> thank yous to Al, Beth, Mira, and Theo for the support. Thanks to Hyper, Luna, and Mags for sprinting the final bits out with me, and a HUGE thank you to Nik, who didn't tell me to fuck off when I asked her to beta a 19K fic. 
> 
> FINALLY, make sure you check out the art down below, and go follow sunshineandchemistry on Tumblr!! 
> 
> Dedicated to the two feet of snow currently keeping me trapped in my house, and the kind people at my externship office who gave me the day off because of it.

“Come back to bed,” 

Nicky could hear his own exhaustion in his voice, and Joe looked over his shoulder, smiling at him. “Go back to sleep.”

 _“Yusuf.”_ Nicky knew he was whining, but it was _snowing_ outside, and Joe was warm.

 _“Nicolo,”_ Joe whined back, crossing to kiss his forehead. “I promised Nile I’d go to the market.”

“It’s too early,” Nicky said, leaning up to kiss him. Joe kissed back for a second, then pulled away, smiling. “It’s almost ten am, _hayati.”_

“That just means the snow storm’s already started, if it's this dark in here.” Nicky kissed him again. “Come back to bed; Nile will understand.”

Joe hummed, considering, then shook his head. “I won’t be long, really. In fact, why-” he pecked Nicky on the forehead, “don’t-” his nose “you stay-” right cheek “right-” left cheek “here.” 

He kissed Nicky soundly on the mouth, then stood again. “I won’t be long. Keep the bed warm.”

Nicky sighed, stretching out. The idea of lingering in bed _was_ appealing - this apartment was rather nice, with a soft bed and warm sheets. “Come back quickly, _amore.”_

“I love you, Nicky.”

“I love you too.” Nicky smiled and watched Joe walk out the door

An hour later, Joe still wasn’t back. Nicky had risen eventually, needing breakfast and a bathroom. He was slathering butter on toast, listening to Nile chatter when his phone rang. Joe. Nicky picked it up, not bothering with a hello. “You left me in bed.”

_“Hey, boss, do we need any apples?”_

_Boss?_ “Joe, you didn’t dial Andy-”

_“I know, I know, but remember what the doctor said? Apples are good for your heart or whatever, boss.”_

Nicky snapped his fingers, pointing to the pen and paper on the counter. Nile immediately jumped up and brought it over, handing it to him. “Joe, are you being followed?”

_“Yeah! I’ll pick up supplies for apple pie while I’m here. Ask Nile what her preferences are; it’s only been five months.”_

“Five? Five men?” Nicky wrote _JOES IN TROUBLE_ in big letters on the pad, and Nile’s eyes widened. She ran off to get the weapon bag, shouting Andy’s name. 

_“Oh, six? Has it been that long since we met her? Damn, time really flies. Anyway, I’ll get my apple pie supplies from that corner place two blocks away, but I might be home a little late-”_

And here - here, his voice warbled. Joe was _scared._ Nicky’s trembling hands clenched around the phone. “I’m coming, Joe, just hold on; I can be there in three minutes, _please_ just hold on-”

_“Give Nicky my love, boss.”_

He hung up as Andy and Nile ran back in, chucking him a gun. They ran out the door as Nicky relayed the info. “Six guys, two blocks away - he mentioned the day we met Nile; I think they’re probably about as skilled as the guards at Merrick.”

But when they got to the store two blocks away, there were two men dead in the alley. There was blood on the alley wall. There were two reusable tote bags on the ground. Peeking out the top of one are Nicky’s favorite chocolates, which is probably why Joe was so late.

Joe himself was missing. The snow was starting to fall thicker and thicker around them as Nicky fell to his knees.

Nile touched his shoulder, and Nicky just shook his head, disbelieving. 

Joe was gone. Joe couldn’t be gone. Nicky needed Joe. 

Nicky was going to get him back. 

* * *

He doesn’t know where he is. His cell has no windows except for the one in the door, which only looks out into a dingy and badly-lit hallway. The guards hit him when he speaks, so he doesn’t anymore. Every day, the woman comes and… does something. He doesn’t know what she does; he always falls asleep during it. It hurts, so he supposes it’s better that he sleeps.

He doesn’t know where he is; he knows that he wants to leave.

The guards also haven’t told him his name yet. They never say it when they tell him to shut up - it’s always “hey, shut it!” or “quiet you!” and never anything like “Shut up, Sam!” or “Bill! Shut the _fuck_ up!” the way the guards shout at each other.

He supposes his name could be You, but that seemed unlikely. 

He is given two trays of food each day - one before he sees the woman and one after. And three cups of water, which he has to stretch out to keep from getting thirsty. The cups are always made from the same white material that sounds bad when it rubs against things - he’s sure it has a name; he just can’t remember it.

He can’t remember a lot of things. Which is sad because there was something he absolutely knew he _had_ to remember. Something he swore he’d never forget. 

Maybe his great Something was his name or where he lived - or maybe it was how the hell to get out of here. If it was the last one, he’d appreciate that memory coming back sooner rather than later

Luckily, he doesn’t need it.

One day - maybe a guard gets lazy or maybe someone feels bad for him. But when they chuck him in his cell after his daily session with the woman - he used to call her the blonde woman, but he doesn’t think she’s a natural blonde - they don’t close his cell door hard enough.

It sits open, just a crack. He stares at it, hesitating. Is this a test? Will he be killed the moment he steps out? Once he’s out of the cell, where does he go, and even worse - where does he go after he’s _out_ out? He has to decide quickly - the second tray of food will arrive in 2,040 seconds; he has to decide.

It’s quiet outside his cell. Slowly, hesitantly, he peeks through. He doesn’t see anyone or hear anything. He nudges the door open with a loud creak of metal.

He hears footsteps, now or never, and suddenly, with a burst of bravery, he clambers to his feet and _runs._

Which way? Well, whichever way doesn’t have footsteps and shouting seems good. He runs as fast as he can, ignoring sore muscles and aching joints and the hunger pains from only eating soggy bread for who knows how long. He has to run, he has to get out, he has to find Something, he has to get away.

 _Evade capture._ He has to evade capture or… or something bad will happen. Something bad _has already_ happened. He has to evade capture.

He hangs a left, then a right. He sees a guard charging towards him, and before he can _think,_ he’s flipping the guard over his shoulder and slamming his head against the floor until there's a sickening crack. The guard doesn’t get up again. He keeps running. He slams through a door and-

Cars. Lots of cars. Big cars with lots of armor. Does he know how to drive a car? 

More shouting. No time. Even if he dies, it’ll be better than being here. 

He climbs into the nearest truck and stares at the controls, willing his body to move, do something, _please know what to do._

He knows how to do this. He has to know how to do this. 

He leans down and pulls two wires - how he knows which two is anyone’s guess - and touches them together until the car rumbles and starts.

There’s loud bangs and gunshots, and he presses his foot on the right pedal, only for the car to not move. He curses loudly in a language that might not be English, putting the lever next to him on D and driving as fast as he can through abandoned city streets. 

He’s near water. He doesn’t recognize any surroundings, so he just keeps driving. There are more gunshots and more cars behind him. He keeps driving faster and faster, and there's a loud honk as he drives into an intersection without looking, and the side of his truck is hit by a larger truck with eighteen wheels.

He goes flying. He hopes the guards don't take him again. He sorta hopes this is the end.

His last regret is that he still doesn’t know his name.

* * *

“Okay, let’s go over it again.”

Nicky groaned, head in his hands. It had been almost forty-eight hours since Joe’s… disappearance. They’d called Copley and sent the bodies in the alley away for identification. They were on a plane, leaving Russia just as quick as they could, and Andy was going over the phone call _again._

Nicky didn’t even want to leave the country. Russia was a huge land mass; they could be heading in the opposite direction to where Joe was. But Andy insisted, and were Nicky thinking rationally, he’s sure he would agree with her - if whoever was after them found Joe, that safehouse was compromised and had to be scrubbed.

But he wasn’t thinking rationally, never ever claimed to think _rationally_ when it came to his beloved.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Nile said awkwardly, trying to mediate, and Andy pinned them both with a glare. “For the last time, this phone call is the only thing we have. Joe’s good - too damn good to not put a code into every word he said.”

“Andy, _please,”_ Nile insisted, and Nicky didn’t look up, but he was certain that she was gesturing at him.

Andy sighed and sat between Nile and Nicky, resting a hand on the back of his neck. She rubbed at the tense muscles there. 

“You need to relax,” she said softly, “You haven't even had any water in two days; you’ll be no good to Joe if you're dead from dehydration.”

“We shouldn’t leave the country,” Nicky said, finally raising his head from his hands. “What if Joe gets away and comes looking for us?”

“Joe knows how to contact us, Nicky. He’ll send up a smoke signal if he can.”

Nicky didn’t respond, and Andy sighed. “Nicky, you know that going on a war campaign won’t do any good-”

“It would satisfy me,” Nicky hissed, finally looking over at her. “It would give me the opportunity to repay in full every slight they do to him, every injury they give him. For every _drop_ of his blood they spill, l I demand five in return.”

Nile made an uncomfortable noise, but Andy just held his gaze.

“And you’ll get them,” she promised, “I wouldn’t think of keeping them from you. But you can’t go on a rampage until we know who and what we’re dealing with, not to mention where. I won’t let you hurt innocents, Nicky; you’d never forgive yourself, and Joe would never forgive me.”

Nicky trembled from the strain of holding himself still, keeping himself from jumping out of this stupid plane and razing Russia to the ground. It would be so easy to simply pick Joe out of the ashes. 

He exhaled through gritted teeth, bowing his head and forcing his racing heart beat to slow. 

_Not yet,_ he thought, _not yet. Save it, you’ll need the fury later._

He’d use it when it was time, burst into wherever they were holding Joe and he’d look up at Nicky and smile, tease him about being a knight in shining armor. 

Nicky didn’t have a white horse, but he’d rescue Joe again and again and again.

“Lets go over the phone call one more time,” he said to Andy.

* * *

He wakes up in an actual bed, not the corner he’d slept in before. This place is lighter than his cell, noisier, smells different and yet familiar, just like-

Like

Like the room. Where the woman--

He’s suddenly very awake, eyes darting around. The woman isn’t here. Neither are the guards. There are sharp things in his arms connected to bags, and he quickly pulls them out, removing sticky patches from his skin and wincing when they pull at the hair on his arms. 

One of the machines starts screaming at him, and he panics - it’s calling the woman, it’s telling her he was escaping. He has to _get out-_

He runs out the door and finds other people, wearing dresses like the one they’d put him in and people in coats like the one the woman had. There are no guards, but that just means they’re coming.

He starts to run, bare feet slapping against cool tile. A few people yell; some pay him no mind. One person grabs him, and he throws him off, sending him to the ground. He takes off running

There are signs saying _exit,_ and he follows them until he sees a large glass door. He runs at it, and it slides open for him - only for him to stop short. 

There are cars and people everywhere. A city, he’s in a city. 

Someone grabs his arm, and he whips around trying to free himself. The person is wearing blue and saying “Calm down! Please, I’m here to help you!”

He stares, reading sincerity in her eyes. She gives him a slow smile. “Hi, I’m Julia, what’s your name?”

He stares. If he talks, will he be hit again. If he doesn’t… he doesn’t know.

He looks around for guards, then looks at her and braces himself for a punch before he whispers, “I don’t know.”

She doesn’t seem phased, just nods politely. “If you come back inside, we might be able to help you out.”

He shakes his head, trying to pull his arm away. She keeps a tight hold. “I promise, you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

He fights harder, and she gives him a pleading look. “Please, at least let us give you some clothes and shoes. We can try and find your name; maybe someone’s looking for you.”

He hesitates. He hadn’t thought about that - what if someone _is_ looking for him? They could be really worried. 

He sees people in white coats crowding around the doors and trembles. Julia follows his line of sight, squeezing his arm. “I’ll stay with you the entire time. No one here will hurt you.”

He lets her lead him inside

* * *

_Nicolo was wearing his cross, his armor, his chain mail; he was clutching his sword and galloping towards the holy city. Only he wasn’t invading; he was returning. The blood of his enemies stained his skin and hair, but he would rest, just as soon as he reached the gates._

_Even better - he could see Yusuf, just inside the gates. He had a bright smile and his tote bags and the scarf Nicolo had knitted for him three years ago; he was waving at Nicolo, and Nicolo would see him soon-_

_And then the gates slammed closed, and Yusuf disappeared. The blood on Nicky’s skin melted off until he was standing in a puddle, a lake, an ocean of blood._

_Yusuf’s head floated in front of him, and Nicolo screamed-_

And then he woke up, forcing his eyes open as he thrashed in his empty bed with no arms to keep him in place. 

Right. Joe was missing. 

Nicky sighed and flopped on the bed, looking over towards Joe’s side of it. It was ice cold, untouched. The pillow didn’t even smell like him. Nicky hugged it to his chest anyway, a shoddy replacement from his usual bed partner. 

He heard movement outside and let the pillow go, climbing out of bed and padding out to the kitchen in his sock feet. They were in Latvia now, a tiny cabin in the woods.

“I don’t get it,” Nile said. “These guys were _losers.”_

It was true - the two bodies Joe had left behind had been identified as a pair of low-grade guns for hire. Tough enough in their own right but nowhere near good enough to get a man who had been taking on brutes twice his size for a thousand years. 

“Sheer number.” Andy shrugged. “They probably overwhelmed him somehow.”

Nicky winced at the idea as he passed them to get to the coffee pot. Part of him wanted to make tea - a spiced tea, one Joe loved. Maybe the smell would chase away the nightmares. 

“Alright, where were we?”

“Phone call again?” Nicky asked as he poured himself a mug of coffee, and Andy nodded. “It just… I get that it's a sheer number thing, but why would he reference the day we met Nile _twice_ if it was a bunch of buffoons? Something doesn’t add up.”

Nicky sipped his coffee, leaning against the counter. He was exhausted. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the phone call - he just wanted _Joe._

“Any word from Booker?” Nile asked, and Andy shook her head. “He’s off the grid, which is rare for him. I asked Copley to look into it between looking for Joe.”

Nicky scoffed quietly. Andy rolled her eyes at him. “Nicky, you _know_ he can help.”

“Maybe he sold us out again,” Nicky grumbled, and Nile’s head shot up so fast he was concerned about the state of her neck

“Oh god,” she said “Oh god, I think… I think the doctor from Merrick Labs might have taken Joe.”

When Andy and Nicky gave her confused looks, Nile held up her transcript of the phone call. _“Remember what the doctor said,_ guys, do you know _any_ other doctors?”

Nicky frowned. “I thought she was dead?”

He’d hoped she was dead; he’d meant to kill her but between the headwound and the shock of Booker’s betrayal, and the lab fight was pretty much a blur.

“I don’t know.” Nile chewed her lip “I don’t… I dont think I killed _any_ doctors. I’m so sorry, Nicky.”

 _“Non ti preoccupare.”_ Nicky waved a hand. “It’s over now, there’s nothing we can do - Joe mentioned that day _twice._ I think… you’re right; I think this is what he was trying to tell us.”

“We have to find her,” Andy said, already reaching for her phone to call Copley. Nicky felt some of the tightness in his chest unwind - yes, they would find her. They would find her, and they would track her to Joe. 

_See, hayati? I’m coming; just hold on._

* * *

True to her word, Julia stays with him the whole time. She holds his arm securely and squeezes his hand every time a person in a white coat - a _doctor_ approaches. 

They tell him several things. The main ones are that he has severe retrograde amnesia, they think he is around thirty-years-old, and they can’t find his name in their computer system. 

“They’ll send your fingerprints to the police,” Julia explains when this news distresses him, “and they’ll see if you’ve ever been fingerprinted before for a job interview or something. We’ll keep looking.” 

He doesn’t want his fingerprints sent off to the police. When he tries to tell Julia this, she shushes him and says it’s a good thing.

“And in the meantime,” - she smiles - “we can call you John Doe.” 

He scrunches up his nose. “I don’t like that. Doe isn’t so bad, but I don’t think… not _John.”_

He saw his face in the mirror earlier. Definitely not a John. 

Julia hums, giving his arm another squeeze. “Well, that just means you get to pick another. Maybe… Mark? Paul?”

Suddenly, he opens his mouth and says, “No names from the Bible.”

Then he blinks. Julia beams at him like he just gave her a present and says, “See! You remember the names from the Bible. Maybe you were Catholic?” 

He feels something tighten in his chest at that, and he quietly shakes his head. Julia, thankfully, drops it.

“Well… how about Jack? Or Jackson?” Julia says idly. “That’s my boss’s son’s name.”

“Jackson Doe isn’t _so_ bad,” he decides, nodding, and she smiles. “Jackson Doe it is.”

They’re quiet for a long moment. Long enough for the newly-named Jackson to inhale and taste nothing but chemicals again. 

“Can I please have some clothes?” he asks, and Julia looks at him sadly. “If you stay, we really can help you.”

Jackson thinks of his Something and how he’s certain it isn’t here. He shakes his head, and Julia sighs, nodding. 

He walks out an hour later, head held high and with a slip of paper reminding him to check in in two weeks. He also has two brochures for homeless shelters - he has no home or family to go back to, as far as he knows. 

He tosses the appointment reminder in the first trash can he sees - no matter how terrifying this huge city is, nothing is more terrifying than the idea of going back there to that foul-smelling place with the doctors and their questions and their needles.

The sun starts to set, and it gets colder. He examines the two brochures he has and frowns at the idea of them. Going somewhere with a lot of people sounds unappealing. 

He’s hungry, he notes to himself; he should find some food.

But this is New York, or so Julia told him, and he gets the feeling that finding something to eat will be a lot harder than it should be.

* * *

When Joe had been missing for a week, Nicky started to well and truly _panic._

For a whole seven days and ten hours and forty-five minutes, the love of Nicky’s life had been in the hands of a crazy woman with no morals and an obsession with sharp objects, and Nicky couldn’t do _anything._ He didn’t even know what continent she was on, much less where she was.

A car pulled up outside, and Copley climbed out. Nicky watched him from his perch on the roof - he’d come out here to think and spent the last five minutes wishing Joe was inside so he had something warm to go in and cuddle.

Copley gave him a little wave, and Nicky glared down at him until he went inside. He gave himself two more minutes before he sighed, slid down the roof, and climbed down the porch, landing on the ground and heading inside. 

He kicked off his boots just as Copley finished explaining that “Doctor Kozak was very careful, never spending too much time in the public eye. A little like you all-“

Nicky growled at that - Joe was _nothing_ like that monster, not in any way, shape, or form. Joe was kinder than anyone on this planet; he would sacrifice his own flesh to spare one other person pain and would give of his heart until he had nothing left to give and then give some more. 

Joe shouldn’t have been under Kozak’s knife right now. It should’ve been Booker, or Nicky, or Merrick, or _anyone_ other than Joe. 

Copley laid out the file he brought on the table, pinning parts of it up on the evidence wall Andy had formed. 

“Doctor Meta Weronika Kozak, born in 1979 in Poland to successful parents who own a large car manufacturing company,” Copley explained, and Nile groaned. 

“Great, so she’s not just a crazy bitch; she’s a crazy bitch with money.”

“Precisely.” Copley nodded, face grim. “It took some digging, but her childhood was wrought with therapist’s notes and mental treatments -- the word sociopath appears quite often, although it was never formally diagnosed.”

“Explains the complete and utter lack of morals,” Nicky muttered, and Copley inclined his head. 

“Her parents covered all this up, and she went to medical school in Berlin where she kept _mostly_ out of trouble, although she was put on academic probation at one point for unethical displays. Her parents bought the school a new library and made it disappear. They probably intended to do the same thing when she was fired from her first posting in the 1990s for-“

“Let me guess, medical malpractice?” Andy said, and Copley nodded again. 

“She was due to be sued and disbarred, but before her trial or her parents could step in, she was swept up by one Stephen Merrick, who brought in a team of lawyers to protect her. Needless to say, she was allowed to keep working.” 

“How does any of this help us find Joe?” Nicky asked, voice cold. He liked Copley, really; so far their partnership with him had proven fruitful. But none of this mattered. Andy gave him a look 

“Nicky, be-”

“If you tell me to be patient, I may actually throw something at you,” Nicky warned. He stalked forward, glaring down Copley like a lion about to spring on prey. 

“When you betrayed us, I did nothing to you,” he said lowly. “My husband also did nothing. We did not harm or maim or kill you. I want you to recall that kindness now.”

“I swear to you, Nicolo,” Copley said. “I’m doing everything in my power to find him. I’ve started tracking Kozak’s movements from the Merrick Tower onward. She _will_ slip up, and we _will_ find her.”

“How do we know that?” Nicky snarled. “How do we know we can trust what you say?”

And Copley, brave man that he was, looked Nicky directly in the eye, and said, “Because I’d expect no less if it were my wife who was missing.” 

Nicky wanted to rage, to scream, to shake him and tell him that Joe was so much more than a spouse; he was the air Nicky needed to breathe and the blood that filled his veins, that Copley’s _ephemeral_ marriage was a fragment compared to the way he loved Joe.

But he didn’t do any of that. He nodded and retreated to his room. He would sharpen his sword again or clean his rifle. So that when they had a target for him, all he would have to do was point and attack.

* * *

Two weeks after he leaves the hospital, Jackson admits that he probably should go to some sort of homeless shelter

He’s _starving._ He didn’t have much fat on his bones to begin with, and it’s all gone now. The few scraps strangers had offered him out of pity weren’t sufficient, it’s just getting _colder_ at night, and he only had the one jacket the hospital had given him. He’s been almost mugged twice now, before the guys realized he had literally nothing. 

He glances at the brochures again, wandering in the direction he _thinks_ the shelter is in. Two weeks in this city had brought back exactly no memories. Wherever he’s from, he’s sure it isn’t here. 

And then, he pauses.

He knows the words on that sign, even though they aren’t in English. He recognizes the swoops and dots of the calligraphy for the word _mosque._

He swallows thickly, then slips inside. He hears quiet voices, the whole place smells like _home_ and suddenly, for the first time in… well, in everything he remembers. 

He feels warm. 

He’s still standing there, breathing in the feeling of _warm_ when she comes up to him. She has a swollen belly and a young face, hair tucked under a hijab. 

“Excuse me?” she asks softly, touching his wrist. “Are you alright?”

Jackson stares at her, at this short and kind young lady, and without meaning to, he blurts, “I lost my memory.”

Her brow furrows, and he keeps talking, “I have retrograde amnesia, and I can’t remember anything. I don’t even know my own name, and I’ve been on the streets, and this is the first place I can remember where I feel _safe.”_

He tenses, terrified of pain after he speaks, but she doesn’t look angry; she just looks horrified. She puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh, you poor, poor man. Here, come inside, sit.”

She leads him to a bench next to a fountain and sits him down, giving him a gentle smile. “My name is Amira. Sit here, wash your face; I’ll be right back.” 

She gestures to the fountain, then walks away. Jackson watches her go, then shrugs and gently washes his face and beard, revelling in the warm, non-public fountain water.

“Sir?” 

He looks up when Amira returns, with her arm laced through the elbow of a tall man with a beard. “This is my husband, Richard.” 

“Hi,” Jackson says. “I’m, well, the name the hospital gave me is Jackson Doe.” 

“Good to meet you, Jackson,” Richard says, shaking his hand and giving it a squeeze. “My wife and I have talked, and we’re going to bring you home with us tonight-“ 

“Oh, no, please - you don’t need to do that; I couldn’t impose-“ 

“Nonsense,” Richard insisted. “You need the help. We can’t put you up forever, but for tonight, we can get you a warm meal and a safe place to sleep.” 

Jackson feels tears welling in his eyes. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, _thank you-“_

Richard nods, giving him a warm smile that crinkles around the eyes. They lead him to their car, and as Amira starts to drive, Richard twists in his seat to turn to him and ask, “So, do you know how you lost your memory?”

Almost shyly, Jackson paraphrases what happened, explains about the people who hit him, about the hospital and Julia and the doctor in white.

“It sounds like you were abducted,” Amira says grimly as she turns into a parking garage. “It happens sometimes, especially to people like us.”

Jackson is about to ask what she means, but then he remembers one of the guys who mugged him calling him an _Iraqi bastard_ and him not realizing what it meant. Suddenly the image flashes in his mind - Iraq. Muslims. People like Amira and Richard.

And him, apparently. 

Jackson nods grimly, and Amira and Richard take him inside and, just as they said, give him a warm meal and set him up on the couch. 

Warm and safe for the first time in weeks, Jackson sleeps

* * *

Four weeks. That’s how long it had been since Joe’s kidnapping. A whole month in fucking _Latvia,_ hiding in the woods, no goddamn clue where the other half of Nicky’s soul was. 

It was raining. Sleeting, actually. Just barely above snow. Joe loved and hated this weather in equal measure - he hated the cold, thought snow was pretty to look at but awful to touch. But he loved any excuse to steal one of Nicky’s larger hoodies (which he absolutely bought specifically for Joe to steal, so he would stop stretching out Nicky’s regular hoodies) and throw on some fuzzy socks and snuggle up against Nicky’s side with a warm mug of tea. 

Nicky still made tea. Every morning. Andy had started drinking it just so it wouldn’t go to waste. Never mind that she _hated_ the spiced teas Joe drank. 

He was still staring out the window, mourning the empty space next to him when Nile burst in his room. 

“New York,” she babbled. “He’s in New York; Kozak got off a plane there three weeks ago-“

Nicky was on his feet immediately, grabbing his clothes and shoving his feet into boots. Finally, _finally,_ he was going to get Joe. After they found him, Nicky would take him somewhere _warm,_ and they’d recover and snuggle and make love and Joe could drink as much spiced tea as he wanted; Nicky wouldn’t even tease him about it.

He was the first one ready, eagerly standing by the door with his gun and sword and shifting his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again. He didn’t speak a word, knowing that if he opened his mouth, he would start cursing Nile and Andy for not moving _faster;_ didn’t they know Joe was waiting for them? 

Finally, they clambered in the car, met Copley at a private airport, and flew directly to New York. Andy talked with him about strategies, insisted that “I’ll go in and kill everyone” wasn’t a good enough strategy, and would only result in Nicky getting himself shot.

Nicky didn’t see the big problem. What was a minor bullet wound? If he took it, it was one less bullet they could use on Joe, one less injury to damn that beautiful skin. 

God above, Nicky missed him. 

For four weeks, he’d turned to his side, intending to tell Joe some idle thought that would make him smile, only to find no one. It was intensely heartbreaking, every time he turned and _remembered._

Remembered wasn’t quite the right term. He’d read books where people claimed they forgot their loved one was gone, but Nicky was _so_ aware of it at all times, that each time he turned to tell Joe something or instinctively sought out his warmth at night, it was like the universe was teasing him. 

He found himself missing Joe in bits and pieces - one day, he missed his laugh and the way his brow furrowed when he sketched. The next, he missed the pads of his fingers and the way Joe always blushed a little when Nicky kissed them. 

It didn’t matter now. They would find him. They would. Nicky would get his soul back, and they’d get married again, reaffirm their bond.

They landed in New York. 

They found a trailer in a warehouse. It had two rooms - a lab that was frighteningly familiar, complete with a blood-stained lab bed, and a padded room, also with blood stains. 

There was one dead body, a man with a broken neck.

And Joe was noticeably gone.

* * *

Four weeks. That’s how long it’s been since Jackson got out of that… place.

One night at Amira and Richard Mowad’s has become two weeks. In that time, Jackson has learned several things - he’s realized he remembers how to pray and when to pray, that he hates the taste of limes, and prefers tea to coffee. Amira is on maternity leave from her job as a lawyer, and Richard goes to work at a large office every day. On the day he decides enough is enough, he can’t keep living on their couch, Amira admits that she’s looked into a job for him.

“Mickayla is my niece,” Amira explains as she walks him down the street. “She’s agreed to give you the job without proper paperwork. You can earn a little more than minimum wage here. She needs a cook-”

“I don’t _remember_ how to cook,” Jackson points out, and Amira smacks his arm. 

“And with _that_ attitude, you never will.” 

Jackson laughs, then bends to kiss her on the back of the hand.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “Thank you for _everything.”_

Amira chuckles, used to his natural touchiness by now. She pulls him into a hug. “If by the time the first snow falls you haven’t found a place to live-“

“I’m not sleeping on your couch; you’ll need room for the little one!” Jackson protests. The baby is due any day now. 

Amira sighs and pats her stomach. “It can’t happen soon enough. I love him, but I want him out.”

“Still no name?” Jackson asks, half-teasing, and is intensely unprepared when Amira chuckles and says, “Y’know, I like Jackson quite a lot. I might steal that.”

Jackson stares at her, heart beating rapidly in his chest. “You’ve known me for two weeks.”

“You’re very likable.” Amira kisses his cheek. “Now go to work. I’ll see you at the mosque.”

Amira walks away, and Jackson touches his cheek, blushing. 

Somehow, some way, he’s finangled himself a way into a family. 

He smiles. Maybe this new life won’t be so bad.

(It takes exactly one grueling shift at Waffle House to change his opinion on that) 

He ends up sleeping on a bench next to a library that night, wrapped up tightly in the coat Richard’s given him and warmed by the presence of money in his pocket. 

And of course, just when he thinks things are normalizing, he flies off his bench in the middle of the night, screaming because in his dreams, he _killed someone._

* * *

Nicky woke up with an actual _shriek._

Tonight’s nightmare had featured Kozak and Merrick, holding Joe up by the hair while Nicky stabbed him again and again and again, and Joe sobbed, begged him to stop-

Nicky kicked the blankets off. Despite the lack of bed warmer, he felt too warm. They were in Boston now, chasing a lead, and Nicky’s room was stuffy, and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

He shoved his shoes in a pair of sneakers and grabbed a jacket -- one of Joe’s this time; he’d devolved into wearing his clothes a lot. It was the closest he could get to a hug. Joe gave amazing hugs -- warm and comforting, like they were infused with sunlight. Nicky wanted nothing more than to be _held._

He stepped out of his room in their suite to find Andy gone -- probably out doing something or someone or other -- and Nile on the balcony. 

Nicky blinked, then frowned and stepped outside. “Room for one more?”

Nile didn’t answer. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and Nicky quietly sat next to her. 

“Quynh?” Nicky asked, and Nile shook her head. 

“My mom.” 

“Ah,” Nicky said sagely. “Do you wish to speak of it?”

“I don’t even remember it,” - Nile buried her face in her knees - “I just remember waking up and instinctively looking for Joe.” 

Ah. 

Joe and Nile had become fast friends. They talked about art together and enjoyed the same TV shows. They’d gotten Nicky hooked on Grey's Anatomy, and their group binge was sitting stalled on the Netflix account. Joe was often the one to comfort Nile after nightmares, something instinctive and parent-like waking him when she needed him.

Nicky reached out to touch her shoulder, and Nile _sobbed._ Nicky panicked a little - this was worse than he thought. “Nile, I-“

“Why don’t you _hate me?”_ Nile cried, and Nicky blinked. He scooted closer to her and clasped her shoulder. “Nile-“

“This is all my fault! If I’d just killed this Kozak lady-”

“Nile, _sorellina,_ look at me,” Nicky said firmly, and Nile picked up her head to look at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Nicky reached out with the hand not on her shoulder to brush some away with his thumb.

“I do not _hate you,_ because it isn’t your fault.” Nicky said, voice soft but serious. “You had no way of knowing who in that lab was just a paid goon who would forget about us and who was a sociopathic doctor with means and issues. Because of you, I am not _in that lab._ Because of you, I’m able to be out here, looking for Joe. You did _nothing_ wrong, Nile, please understand that.” 

Nile sniffled, wiping her tears away with the palm of her hand. “I just… _fuck._ I can’t believe this happened. You guys are supposed to be the people I _don’t_ lose.”

Nicky wrapped an arm around Nile’s shoulders, hugging her close. “It isn’t your fault.” 

Nile nodded against his cheek, and Nicky kissed the top of her head. “If anything... it’s my fault.”

Nile sat up so fast that Nicky had to jump to avoid her head bashing into his chin. She stared at him with wide eyes. _“What?”_

“If I’d gone with Joe to the market that day,” Nicky said, swallowing around the emotions in his throat, “or just kept him in bed with me. We wouldn’t- they wouldn’t have-”

“They would’ve just grabbed him later,” Nile said fiercely, “or grabbed you both, and I would’ve lost _both of you._ Nicky, this isn’t _your_ fault.” 

“He was out later because he was buying me chocolates,” Nicky said, suddenly close to tears. “He- he’s such a romantic fool; he should’ve just stayed home. Why- _why didn’t he just stay home with me, Nile?”_

Nile dragged him back into a hug, holding him tightly. “You can’t blame yourself. You _can’t._ Joe wouldn’t let you.”

“What if we don’t find him?” Nicky whispered in horror, and Nile squeezed him so tightly it ached. 

“We _are gonna_ find him, even if we have to check and double-check every inch of this stupid planet.” Nile said fiercely, and Nicky wished he had her confidence.

Andy found them out there the next morning, asleep. Nicky hadn’t even realized how much he missed being held.

* * *

A week later, Amira and Richard don’t come to the mosque for service. Jackson just smiles to himself, and the next day, when he goes into work, Mickayla excitedly shows him pictures of her new cousin. 

The baby’s name is Jackson, and Jackson almost, _almost_ wishes it was his actual name. 

The next day, he buys the bus pass he’s been saving for and hops three buses to get to the house. Richard greets him jovially at the door, and Amira makes him tea while his namesake naps. 

It’s good, calm. Jackson almost believes he can belong here.

That night, he dreams of a crying man, screaming Something at him that he cannot hear over the ringing in his head. Jackson wakes up in tears and decides he needs a fucking apartment. If he keeps waking up screaming, someone is going to mug him.

* * *

Another two weeks, four more dead ends.

Nicky was tired.

He was hanging on by threads - Joe had been missing for six weeks, and Nicky was _losing it._

The empty space next to him was taunting, the way he dreamed again and again of Joe’s smile, laugh, hands, kiss, tears - it _ached._

Copley’s next possible location was in Belgrade, and Nile and Andy were carefully avoiding him - he’d snapped at Andy yesterday, and he didn’t have the energy to apologize just yet. 

Nicky knew he shouldn’t be snapping at his sisters, but he couldn’t help it. Joe was _still gone,_ and for some reason, no one believed him when he said he was a cruel bastard without Joe there to temper him. 

The raid of the Belgrade facility ended the same way as all the others - an empty lab, a single padded room, and no actual humans who could know anything. Nile sighed and lowered her gun. “Either these guys are amazing cleaners or they were never here.”

Nicky let out an angry roar and punched a wall hard enough that one of his fingers broke and sent the proximal phalanx pushing through the skin. He didn’t even care or hesitate; he just shook his hand through the air and turned to walk away. 

And _that_ was when Andy shot him in the leg. 

Nicky collapsed, then rolled smoothly onto his back and raised his gun, eyes wild. _“Che cazzo,_ Andy?”

“You wanna get angry and fight something, you fight me,” Andy said, voice low and cold. Nicky narrowed his eyes. 

“No.”

“I can take it; c’mon, hit me,” Andy said tauntingly. Nicky clambered to his feet and took several deep breaths. 

“I’m not fighting you, Andy.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?” Andy smirked. “Afraid you’ll get your ass kicked, just like Joe did?”

Nicky bit the inside of his cheek hard enough that he tasted blood. “Andy, don’t-”

Andy sprang at him, and when Nicky dodged left, she kicked his legs out from under him and sent him to the ground again. 

“Prove to me you’re strong enough,” Andy ordered. “Get off your lazy ass and prove to me that when we find him, you won’t lose him again!”

Nicky resisted the wave of fury in his chest, refused to give into her taunts, and tried to get up again, only for her to roundhouse kick him in the face. 

“Andy-” Nile started, but Andy just raised her chin and started _shouting._

“On your feet, soldier! Get off your ass and _hit me!”_

“I’m not fighting you!” Nicky half-screamed at her, and Andy leaned in close, stared him right in the eye.

“If you won’t fight for him, you didn’t deserve him anyway,” Andy spat.

And of all things, that _lie_ is what finally made Nicky crack.

He grabbed Andy by the neck and shot himself upwards, slamming his shoulder into her sternum and flinging her over his shoulder. She landed on her back, sprang to her feet, and kicked him in the face again. Nicky stumbled back, raising an arm to block her next punch. She came at him from the other side, pushing him back until finally he knocked her hand out of the way and threw his own punch. She blocked; he threw another.

And another and another and another until his vision blurred and he realized he was crying. 

His hands fell to his sides, and he swayed on his feet for a long moment. He stood there, crying. Why was he trying to beat up Andy? Why wasn’t Joe there to stop him?

A cool finger swiped blood off the corner of his mouth, small and so different from Joe’s. Nicky looked up to see Andy watching him with gentle eyes. 

“You aren’t the only one who lost him,” Andy said plainly. “Stop fighting us. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicky croaked. “I miss him so much.”

“Of course you do,” said Andy, _Andy,_ the one person on Earth who could possibly understand what he was going through. “But even if we never find him - and we _will -_ he’s always a part of you, Nicky. He’ll always be with you. A wise man once said that two beings of one soul will always exist inside one another, right?”

“Don’t quote original Yusuf Al-Kaysani poems at me,” Nicky joked through a sob. “I think I still have that one somewhere.” 

Andy tugged him into a hug, and Nile joined on the other side.

Nicky closed his eyes, tried to imagine Joe’s arms around him as well. He didn’t hug them back.

* * *

Jackson sighs, fidgeting and clutching the cut newspaper ad in his hands. _Sixteen dollars an hour._ He needs this job. The man who comes out of the office is tall and skinny like a skeleton, wearing a backwards hat and missing two teeth to the left of his main ones. He arches a blonde eyebrow and speaks with a vague accent. “Jackson Doe?”

“That’s me,” Jackson says, rising and holding out a hand. “Are you Arthur?”

“You can call me Mr. Peterson,” he says, shaking Jackson’s hand once and turning back to the little room. “Step into my office.”

Jackson follows him into a cramped room that’s oddly spotless. Everything’s put in its place, and there’s no decoration except for a single sign, which reads: “You’re not stupid; you’re just unlucky when it comes to thinking.”

It’s decidedly uncomfortable. 

Jackson plasters on a smile and sits in one of the most uncomfortable chairs he had ever seen. He tips his head toward Mr. Peterson. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“It’s my job,” Peterson grunts. “Your application said you had retrograde amnesia?”

“That’s correct.”

“So your name isn’t actually Jackson Doe.”

“No, sir. Is that a problem?”

“Means I don’t have to learn how to pronounce some long foreign name.” Peterson shrugs, and Jackson bites back his wince. “Without proper ID or a CDL, you won’t be allowed to drive the truck, which means you’re gonna be riding on the side and grabbing the trashbags, clear?”

Jackson nods eagerly, and Peterson reaches into his desk to grab a manual. “This explains- You don’t have any problem memorizing new shit, right?” At Jackson’s head shake, Peterson shoves the manual towards him. “This explains the stuff we can and cannot accept along with safety procedures. You’ll do a ride-along tomorrow, and then you’ll be on your own, capiche?”

_-you touch that pot, and you’ll be sleeping on the couch! Capiche, habibi?_

Jackson shudders, and Peterson raises an unimpressed eyebrow again. Jackson gives him an awkward smile. “Sorry, just- so excited to work here!”

He fakes a laugh, and Peterson snorts. “Yeah, sure. You got your bank info for direct deposit?”

“Uh, I don’t-”

“Don’t have a bank account, right, no ID. I pay in checks; you might want to fix that.”

He’d already tried to open a bank account, a stupidly confusing process. He’d burn that bridge when he got to it. 

Jackson tries for another smile, and Peterson gets up and opens the door. “ANDREW! Get the newbie a jumpsuit!”

Jackson watches a short man with dark skin glance up at them, then rise to his feet to cross the room and stand in front of Joe. He holds out a hand. “I’m Andrew; nice to meet ya, newbie.”

“Jackson,” he replies, shaking. 

Andrew does his ride-along the next day, and Joe finds that he’s funny and likes terrible puns. 

He gets his first paycheck at the end of the week and finds a cash-now shop that lets him sign over his checks for cash.

(Less cash than what was actually on the check. But Jackson is too excited to protest the supposed fee) 

Amira drives him to Target, and while she buys diapers, he picks the cheapest cell phone and calling plan they have. He only needs three numbers -- Amira and his jobs. 

He’s making this work for him. He’s surviving.

… if only he could remember his Something.

* * *

Nicky had to admit -- Copley wasn’t completely useless. 

He was the one to suggest that Kozak likely had an accomplice, one who may not be as clean as her. After all, Joe was a skilled fighter. She’d need _someone_ to keep him in the labs, and if they could find who was leading her mercs, they could follow the paper trail right to her. 

He hoped. Kozak was slippery as an eel; being disappointed every time they missed her _hurt._ But at the same time, Nicky couldn’t afford to stop hoping. 

If he stopped hoping, it would mean that Joe was…

The idea of giving up on Joe was abhorrent. Nicky _needed_ his hope, and he needed the disappointment when it fell through. Often, it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

Since Belgrade, he’d been less angry, more sad. He remembered the five stages of grief, how depression was the last step before acceptance.

 _Fuck Kubler-Ross,_ Nicky thought viciously as he flipped the steaks he was cooking. He’d started cooking frantically after Belgrade, determined to make up his bad attitude to his sisters. They were back in Surrey now, waiting for Copley to… 

Well, to give them a lead. 

(Nicky still was waiting for someone to say he could start killing everyone in his path.)

On top of it all, Booker was still missing. The longer he was missing, the angrier Nicky got. This was _his_ fault, and now he finally had a chance to fix it, a chance to make up for what he did to Joe in that lab, and he was _wasting it._

… Didn’t he know that Nicky needed his brother? That he needed his whole family? So did Andy, so did _Nile._ Did he really hate them so much that he couldn’t even come home?

And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, Andy started shouting from downstairs. 

Nicky looked back at Copley, who was sitting at the table. Copley didn’t even hesitate, just grabbed a gun from under the table, then offered it to Nicky. Nicky grabbed a butcher knife and waved him off. They went down the stairs in silence- 

And found, in the living room where all the memory boards still were, Booker.

Andy was shouting at him, Nile was mediating, and in the corner was-

Was-

Nicky didn’t think, just reacted. His knife arced through the air and embedded in Booker’s skull, and he collapsed with a shout. 

Quynh looked away from the boards and at Nicky, tilting her head. “Why’d you do that? Now there’s blood everywhere.” 

Booker groaned, and Andy turned to Quynh with a string of some language that Nicky didn’t bother to translate. He stormed across the room and kicked Booker in the leg. “Get up.” 

Booker groaned again, and Nicky kicked him harder. “Up! You have a _lot_ to answer for!”

“You stabbed me in the brain!” Booker groaned, and Nicky rolled his eyes, bending over and hauling him to his feet. 

“Yusuf once did the same to me; you’re fine. Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

“With me?” Quynh started, but Nicky waved her off.

“I’ll get to you in a minute. Do you realize Joe is _missing?_ That the fucking doctor that _you gave our information to_ has him in a _lab_ somewhere, for _weeks-!”_

“Nicky, I-“ 

Nicky snarled and kicked his legs out from under him, sending Booker to the ground again. 

“You should’ve been here!” Nicky snarled. “You should’ve been here to help us! To help your _family!”_

“He _was!”_

Quynh grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. “He was helping _me!_ I crawled out of the ocean confused and angry, and he _helped!”_

“You-“ Nicky swallowed, feeling ill. “You don’t…”

What was he supposed to say? Joe needed him more? Quynh should’ve come to them? 

“You’re really-“ Andy swallowed, eyes shining. “You’re really back?” 

Quynh’s eyes softened, and she let go of Nicky to cross the room and cup her face. “Yes, my love, I’m back. I’m sorry it took so long.” 

Andy sobbed once, quietly, then fell silent and leaned forward to press her forehead against Quynh’s shoulder. 

Nicky hated himself for the spike of jealousy that shot through him. He missed Yusuf so much it _ached._

Nile finally managed to pull the knife out of Booker’s head with a sick squelch, and Booker climbed to his feet to touch Nicky’s hand.

“I know I messed up,” he said seriously, “I’m here to fix it.”

 _“How?”_ Nicky croaked, finally looking his brother in the eye. 

Booker’s eyes were grim. “Because I know how to find Kozak.”

* * *

Jackson swallows back a thick lump of emotion as he looks around the single room.

There’s a kitchenette to his right, along with the tiniest postage stamp of a bathroom. The rest of the room is a blank floor area, with dirty hardwood and cracks in the plaster walls. It’s cold, and undoubtedly, there are flies and other bugs in the walls.

It’s like standing in his own personal paradise. 

He can just see it - a little paint on the walls, yellow maybe? And a bed in that corner. A proper bed, no more park benches. 

His fist is clenched tightly enough around his new keys that it aches. A quiet knock behind him finally makes him jump out of his stupor, and he turns to see Richard and Amira standing in his doorway. Richard has Lil'Jackson in his arms, Amira has a plant. Jackson beams at them both, gesturing widely. “And I did it before the first snowfall."

“I don’t think this is an achievement, Jacks” Richard teases, crossing and handing the baby off to him before moving to inspect the cracked plaster. Amira rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t listen to him; I’m proud of you.” She kisses his cheek and sets his plant on the counter of the kitchenette. 

Jackson watches his friends inspect the apartment, bouncing Lil'Jackson in his arms. He gets along well with the infant. Allah willing, he’ll never end up in a place like this. 

It snows that very night, and Jackson shivers under his blankets, but he has a roof over his head and leftover pizza in his fridge. 

He dreams about red snow that night, along with _a man hanging from a noose. The beating of horse hooves echoes in his ears, and the hanging man shifts restlessly between a blonde man with long hair and a uniform back and forth to the same blonde man with short hair and a bloody hole in his chest._

_The hanging man opens bloodshot eyes, his jaw falls open, and he screams._

Jackson shoots upwards, choking on nothing. 

Maybe he should look into sleeping pills.

* * *

Nicky always fell into a certain state of mind when behind his rifle. He had an uncanny ability to relax every muscle in his body, lay perfectly still for hours and hours and hours. 

It was unusually hard to enter that state of mind today. 

He knew _why,_ of course he did; his spotter of choice was missing, and the woman who took him was about to walk into his scope to meet with his traitorous brother about him supposedly betraying them _again._

He prided himself on his control. On his ability to be cold and silent and intimidating and _still_ when needed. Joe was the fire; he was the ice. He could control himself.

And yet, it was still _unspeakably_ hard to keep his finger from the trigger when Kozak walked in. 

_Snipers must be steady,_ Joe recited in Nicky’s mind. _They must be patient-_

“I’m so glad you asked to see me,” Kozak purred at Booker, her lilting accent soft and intrigued. Booker shrugged one shoulder. 

“Figured it couldn’t hurt.” 

_Oh, it can hurt._ Nicky snorted at that thought. Of course Booker wouldn’t know that, because Booker hadn’t- _focus._

“They abandoned you, didn’t they?” Kozak _cooed,_ like a caring mother. “Left you to rot?”

Booker nodded, and Nicky nearly shot _him_ for the real emotion in his eyes. Booker _earned_ his punishment; Kozak didn’t have the right to give an opinion on it. 

“Well, I’m glad you called,” Kozak sighed. “My last test subject gave out so quickly-“ 

And that was the moment when the world stopped.

Kozak’s voice was gone, so was Booker’s. He was certain the comm unit in his ear was vibrating, the tiny speaker producing soundwaves that entered his ear and were interpreted in his brain as Andy’s voice, but he didn’t hear it. 

There was only one voice he would hear right then.

And Kozak had just implied that he was-

The one thing he _could_ hear was his own pulse, beating in his ears like a hammer against his skull, rapid and strong and _lonely,_ forever missing the twin beat in Joe’s chest. 

Kozak was still talking. Kozak, who had taken Joe, had stolen the air and the light and the warmth from Nicky’s life. Kozak, who had tortured them. Kozak, who had corrupted Nicky’s baby brother until he believed that he needed to try to die, until he believed that he couldn’t talk to them, until he believed that the only way Nicky and Joe could possibly forgive him was to risk himself like this-

And suddenly, in a moment that would haunt him for years, Nicky’s perfect control snapped. His body moved on its own. 

And he fired.

* * *

“Jackson? _Jackson!”_

Jackson’s head snaps upward, shaking himself from his stupor and looking up at Andrew, who’s giving him the same hands-on-hips glare he probably gives to his kids. 

“You gonna put that on the truck, Jacks?” 

Jackson glances at the bin in his hand, then sighs and pulls the bag out to toss it on the truck. “Sorry, I’m a million miles away today.”

“I can tell.” Andrew snorts, hopping on his step and waiting for Jackson to hop on his before waving to the driver. 

When they hit the next stop, Jackson and Andrew hop off, grabbing their bins and shoving the bags in the truck in a carefully practiced routine. Andrew glances up at him over bag after bag, frowning. “So you’ve been here for almost a month and you’re already zoning on me?” 

“Nah.” Jackson sighs. “I just- I don’t sleep well. I have weird dreams, every night.” 

“Like memory dreams?”

“I’m not- _ugh,_ can you help me with this?” Jackson asks, hefting a large bag that strains under its own weight. Andrew darts over to lift from the bottom, grunting with effort. They hop on the truck again, heading to the next street before hopping off. 

“Anyway, I’m not sure what the dreams are, but they’re… full of blood and death. They're awful.”

“Sounds like you’re a serial killer!” Andrew looks up at Jackson’s unimpressed face and rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m joking.” 

“I’m just… I want to know what they're about,” Jackson says, staring down at the bag in his hands. 

A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and Andrew gives him a sympathetic look. “Look, when my daughter, Missy, was a kid — like, sixish? She started having these _awful_ nightmares. They were fucking terrible. She’d wake up screaming; my wife and I got so worried we had to take her to the doctor.”

“I can’t afford sleeping pills,” Jackson sighs, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. 

Andrew shakes his head. “Nah, man, the doctor said to have Missy write her dreams down in a notebook as soon as she woke up. She still does it every morning, and she’s almost fourteen now! It helps her mental health, her dreams, all of it. We got our other kids to do it too.”

“That… might work,” Jackson says brightly, smiling a little. “Thanks, Andrew.” 

Their driver, Dale, beeps the truck impatiently, and they exchange sheepish grins before getting back to work. 

Jackson buys a notebook that night, and a week later, he has pages filled with drawings and notes about what he sees. A few things reoccur - a man with a book and a bottle, a strange double-headed axe, and an odd Red Cross stretched on white fabric. 

He also tracks the date. One day, he looks up and realizes he’s been in New York for almost two months. 

* * *

Nicky couldn’t believe that they finally captured Kozak. This was the woman who had tortured him and Joe at Merrick’s, the woman who had taken Joe. 

And Nicky _wasn’t allowed to see her._

“If you weren’t mortal, I would kill you,” Nicky muttered under his breath, and Quynh smacked him upside the head again. He’d muttered similar sentiments many times in the last two hours while Nile and Copley interviewed Kozak. 

Nicky should be in there; he should be _beating Joe’s location out of her-_

“For the last time, I’m fine,” Nicky ground out, fists clenched in his lap. Andy turned to him, brow arched. 

“You shot Kozak against orders-“

“In the shoulder!”

“-and you don’t even remember it. You haven’t been fine in two months, Nicky, and I’m a fool for ignoring it,” Andy huffed, shaking her head. 

“Please, Andy,” Nicky whispered. “Please, she knows where Yusuf is.”

“I know,” Andy said, sounding angry. “And we’ll get her to tell us, we _will._ But you need to chill out-”

“You didn’t chill out!” Nicky snapped. “You killed every man and woman who even _witnessed_ Quynh getting thrown off that boat and-“

 _“Enough,”_ Quynh said softly, touching Nicky’s shoulder. “Nicolo, please-“

“I need to find him,” Nicky said, swiping angrily at the tears burning in his eyes. “She said he was _gone,_ Andy; what if he-”

“She was baiting you,” Andy insisted, grabbing his shoulders. “Nicky, Joe would _never_ die on you; you know that.” 

“What if I never see him again?” Nicky voiced, finally, after two months. “What if I- I never hug him? And his last memories are-”

“Memories!” Quynh shouted, jumping to her feet. “That’s it! Hold on, I need to check something.”

She ran down into the basement where they were keeping Kozak, and Andy and Nicky shared a look. 

“Did that make sense to you?” Nicky asked, and Andy sighed. 

“I missed her so much.”

Nile came up from the basement, rubbing her neck. “Uh, Quynh kicked me out. But we do have a lead! Does the name Daniel Keane mean anything to you?”

“That’s the guard who shot me in the head,” Nicky said quietly, and Nile’s face went carefully blank. 

“His son,” she said, swallowing. “Kozak is working with him. His name is Brian Keane.”

“He has Joe,” Nicky croaked, and Quynh shouted, “No, he doesn’t!”

Nicky sprang to his feet as Quynh came running up the steps. 

She looked slightly frazzled, but her eyes were wide and expressive and full of hope. 

“When I came out of the sea, I was so confused,” Quynh explained, swallowing. “I didn’t- I didn’t know anything. I didn’t even remember you guys until Nile became immortal. I found Booker and he- we theorized that if we die in rapid enough succession, our brains simply don’t have the time to recreate the neural connections, creating some sort of amnesia.”

Nicky stared at her, and Quynh swallowed, looking at him and smiling. 

“I’m not sure that they have him, Nicolo. I think that’s why she’s refusing to tell us.” 

Nicky inhaled sharply, staring at her. Questions raced through his head, chasing one another around and around. Why didn’t she say something sooner? How terrible had Joe been suffering to forget them? _Where was Yusuf-_

“Fuck! Hey, get down here!”

They all ran down the stairs after Copley, who was holding a seizing Kozak on the ground. “She had a cyanide pill!”

“No!” Nicky roared, shoving his fingers in her mouth. “Spit it out, spit it-“

She coughed, grinned, and went still. 

Nicky felt sick. He stared at her body, his only true lead to where Joe was-

“Fuck,” Andy said, shaking her head. “Well…”

“I’ll burn the body,” Nicky said, then he turned to Copley with molten fury in his eyes. “Find Brian Keane or I swear I’ll kill you next.”

* * *

Jackson is getting very good at manning the griddle.

The homefries are his specialty. He manages to get them crispy, with the right amount of salt and pepper. There’s something so soothing about the constant _flip flip flip_ and the scrape of his spatula across the metal surface.

Waffle House is open seven days a week, and Jackson works almost every morning, and somehow, he doesn’t hate the smell of it yet. 

“You’re quite the optimist,” Mickayla says when he mentions this on one of their lunch breaks. “I’ve seen this job break spirits in less than a week.”

“I guess I liked cooking before… whatever happened to me,” Jackson says, scratching along the line of his hat. His hair is getting long, and his hat pins the curls to his forehead in a way that makes him itch. 

“Any ideas about what happened?” Mickayla asks, and Jackson sighs, shaking his head. Other than the memories of the white room and the strange dreams, he has no ideas or hints about where he came from. 

Frustrated with his stupid hair, Jackson rips his hat off his head and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, shoving it back and placing the hat on backwards so that the curls that _were_ pinned against his forehead stick out through the little gap, the cool plastic against his skin.

“That is _so_ much better,” he sighs, and Mickayla snorts. 

“That looks good on you, y’know?”

“It feels natural.” Jackson grins. “Hey, maybe I was a baseball player!”

“Oh, yeah, you played for the Yankees, and we never saw you or heard about your disappearance- hey!” 

Mickayla laughed as Jackson shoved her, the _same way his sister laughs when showing him movies and saving his life and being so amazing, his sister, his little Ni-_

“Jackson?”

The memory flies away before he can grab it, like a dragonfly darting out of reach. Jackson groans, burying his head in his hands. “I almost had it that time!”

Mickayla rubs his back. “I’m sorry, man. Ready to get back to it?”

Jackson sighs, nodding. “Might as well."

* * *

Nicky, ever the psychologist’s bane, was apparently back to anger in the five stages. He was pacing and prowling like a goddamn mad man, unable to even _breathe_ without thinking about Joe, out there in the world, unknowing who he _was_ \- 

“Nicky, if you don’t sit down I’m going to murder you,” Nile said, spinning her pen between her fingers. 

Nicky bit back a cruel retort, turning on his heel and pacing back again. 

“Are we sure scanning the hospital records is the best plan?” Copley asked. “We could focus all our energy on Keane and limit our search pool.”

“I will personally sift through every single name in every single hospital on the _planet_ if it means finding Yusuf,” Nicky snapped at him. 

Copley, rather obediently, put his head down and kept searching. 

“We don’t have to search every patient,” Booker said, not even looking up from his screen. “Just male Middle Eastern amnesia patients who match Joe’s height and build with curly brown hair and dark eyes. Hospitals keep track of that sort of information - Nicky, do you know Joe's blood type?”

“AB negative,” Nicky recited immediately. The universal receiver, _which meant he should receive all the love in the world,_ Nicky had joked when they found out. 

He’d always smothered Joe in kisses after that.

Nicky would have given anything — immortality, his still beating heart, his _own_ memories — to kiss Yusuf right then. 

“Blood types. What an amazing world this has become,” Quynh said, shaking her head. “Blood has _types.”_

Under any other circumstance, Nicky probably would’ve laughed at that. Joe definitely would have. 

Andy kissed her cheek, still typing away. Nicky had to look away.

He was so happy for them, but it had been two and a half months and Nicky was… so lonely, so sad, he wanted to-

To-

“Hey, Copley, are you expecting visitors?” 

Copley frowned, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

“Someone is running through the yard.” Nicky’s heart raced in his chest. “Several someones. We’re being ambushed!”

The door was kicked in, and Quynh threw her pen like a dagger directly into the young mercenary’s neck. 

They all looked at her, and she shrugged. “Some instincts never fade.”

“That’s my girl,” Andy said cheerfully. 

More men flooded in, and the team sprang into action. Nicky grabbed a knife off the butcher’s block and stabbed it into the closest thigh, flinging himself at faceless mercenary after faceless mercenary.

He chucked them behind him one by one, only to realize there was no one there to finish them off, and he quickly cursed and grabbed the first gun he saw, firing five consecutive headshots to clean up his mess. He snarled, a red haze covering his vision. He was barely even Nicolo anymore. He was a knight, a nameless crusader on a holy quest to save the holiest thing on this earth -- Yusuf. His own personal angel, the only one he bothered to believe in anymore. 

They were supposed to be _together;_ they’d been making plans to go to _Tokyo,_ Nicky should be eating sashimi and sitting in a hot spring and making love with his soulmate on a _vacation,_ and instead, he was in fucking Surrey killing mercenaries without his other half and only then did Nicky realize he was _screaming,_ that he’d worked his way into another room and he was fighting a man who looked oddly familiar, who was asking him-

“-is she? Where’s Meta?”

Nicky shook with primal fury, and he swung Brian Keane over his shoulder and into the ground. He spat, “She’s _dead,”_ before he sent him into unconsciousness.

* * *

Jackson stretches his arms above his head, exhausted from the first half of his shift. Andrew nudges him, grinning. “Hey, you excited for the day off?”

“Day off?” Jackson asks, frowning. Andrew stares at him.

“Dude. _Christmas?_ It’s the twenty-third...how rattled are those marbles of yours?”

“Oh.” Jackson blinks. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“What?”

Jackson looks up to see Peterson standing over him. He feels everyone else staring at them too, and Peterson’s hands rest on his hips. 

“I’m, uh.” Jackson licks his lips. “I’m Muslim, sir. I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“You mean to tell me that you don’t care about the day our lord and savior was born?” Peterson’s eyes narrow. “The most holiest of holy days-”

“I thought that was Easter?” Jackson asks, then frowns, because how did he know that? 

Peterson sneers. “You back talking me now? I’ll say what is and isn’t holy around here, and if you want your _job,_ I suggest you shut up.”

Jackson closes his fucking mouth, terrified. Peterson reminds him too much of the blonde doctor in white, with her cold hands and cruel stare and-

“Good.” Peterson grins down at his trembling form. “Anyway, since you don’t even celebrate, I suppose I can forget your bonus, hm?”

“Wait-” Jackson starts, but Peterson is already walking away. Jackson stares after him, then slumps in his seat, upset.

Andrew pats his knee, sighing. “I’m sorry, man. I- I’ll split my bonus with you, okay? I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“You have four kids.” Jackson shakes his head. “Keep your money. I’ll pick up an extra shift at Waffle House or something.”

“If you insist,” Andrew says, pulling out his lunch. “But I still feel terrible. Um... oh! Hey, do you like pineapple?”

“Huh?” Jackson looks up to see Andrew offer him a glass container from his lunch. “Never tried it.”

“No time like the present! C’mon, man, you don't eat enough, and I feel guilty.” Andrew says, holding it towards him. Jackson swallows and nods, taking it and picking a piece up with his fingers. 

He pops it in his mouth, and suddenly, _he's back in his house. The waves are crashing, and he's sitting on a stone veranda. The house is a veritable mansion, and a plate of pineapple sits in front of him._

_“Hey.”_

_The angel is bathed in sunlight, and Jackson is blinded by it, but there are blue green eyes that are so beautiful it aches. A smile quirks on unseen lips. “Eat that before the files do, J_ ackson!”

Jackson’s head snaps up, and he stares at Andrew, who looks concerned. “Huh?”

“Dude, you look like you’re about to cry,” Andrew says. “What happened?”

“I think I just remembered something,” Jackson said, white-knuckling the container in his hands. 

Andrew beams at him. “That’s awesome man! What was it?”

“There… there was a big house,” Jackson starts, pulling out his notebook and writing as quick as he could. “And a man, and… um… and… _shit.”_

“It’ll come back, man,” Andrew soothes. “At least know you know there's some sort of memory attached to pineapple.” 

He frowns down at the notebook. “I’m more curious about why the hell you’re daydreaming about templar crosses.”

Jackson looks down at the book, at the red cross stretched against white fabric that he colored the last time he babysat Lil'Jackson.

“What do you mean?”

“That symbol,” Andrew explains. “That’s this old knight’s symbol from like, the Crusades, I think?”

“Huh,” Jackson says, recording that as well. The Crusades.

Something to look into.

* * *

Nicky didn’t want to know why Copley had a soundproof basement, and he also didn’t want to know where Andy got the torture implements from. All he cared about was that they _worked._

Brian Keane was as stubborn and bullheaded as his father and positively irritating. They’d checked this time - no cyanide shortcuts hidden in this one’s teeth. 

Somewhere in that stupid head was where Joe was, and Nicky would find it if he had to reach in and pull it out himself.

“This could be so much quicker, y’know,” Nicky sighed, twirling his knife between his fingers. “I don’t relish this. I just want my husband back.”

“And I want my father and Meta,” Keane Jr snapped, hands bloody and covered in wounds. “But you and your stupid little fuckbuddy-”

Nicky neatly sliced off a finger, and Brian shrieked in pain. Nicky grabbed him by the hair, pulling hard enough that it became hard for him to close his jaw. 

“Never,” Nicky hissed, _“ever_ degrade him like that.”

He let him go, taking a clump of hair with him. Brian glared at him while Nicky wrapped up his hand to make sure he didn’t bleed out.

“Y’know he screamed pretty when we hit him,” Brian taunted. “We did that a lot, every time he so much as made a peep.”

Nicky prided himself on the fact that his anger didn’t show on his face. Instead, he arched a brow. “Is that all you got? _I’ve_ done that to him; he enjoyed it.”

Brian spat at him, and Nicky rolled his eyes, grabbing his chin. “Stop doing that or I’ll just start pulling teeth.”

He never liked teeth; they made him uncomfortable. He hoped that they could end this soon.

Nicky sighed and stood, turning to change out his knife. 

“He called for you.”

Nicky didn’t let himself tense, forced himself to breathe through it. 

“Screamed for you, begged you to save him. It got so annoying. _Nicolo Nicolo Nicolo._ I just started killing him whenever he said it.”

Nicky’s hand clenched around the pommel of his longsword. He tried to count his breaths, counted to ten in hundreds of languages-

“Of course, eventually, he stopped saying it. It’s all about operant conditioning you know? Making sure he associates you with pain - I wonder how it feels, hm? To know you caused your loved one to _die,_ again and again, until they were too terrified to even _talk-”_

Nicky _screamed_ and swung around, and suddenly, Brian Keane’s head was on the ground, severed from his body.

Nicky stared at it in disbelief, sword clattering to the ground. 

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head and falling to his knees. “No, no no, _no-”_

That was his lead.

He just killed him.

_“No no no no no-”_

Nicolo was not a good person. His good person persona was carefully crafted around Yusuf, around a truly good person, _his_ person who made him wake up every day for the last nine hundred years and _choose_ to be a good person himself. Now, without Yusuf-

“Nicky? Fuck, what happened?”

Nicky looked up at Booker, but he wasn’t really seeing him. He was mostly seeing Joe, with that look of… not disappointment, never disappointment. Understanding. He always got that look after Nicky did something morally wrong.

“I’m a monster,” Nicky croaked.

_No, you’re not, habibi._

“Aw, Nicky,” Booker said, crossing to sit on the ground next to him. “He’s the monster.”

“He was our _only_ lead,” Nicky sobbed. “I should’ve- I’ve lost him _again!”_

“Joe is capable,” Booker said, rubbing his shoulder. “He knows what he’s-”

“But he doesn’t!” Nicky shouted. “He doesn’t _remember!_ Either he’s out there somewhere, cold and hungry and in danger, or he’s rotting in a lab somewhere thinking I’ve stopped looking for him!”

Those words, and the horrible ugly truth of them, rang across the small room. Nicky brought his knees up to his face and pressed his eyes against them.

“I just want him back,” Nicky whispered, feeling wrung out and sick to his stomach. “I want- I _need_ him back; I can’t do this without him.”

“I know,” Booker said. “We’re going to find him. I’m going to fix this-”

“Stop _saying_ that.”

“Nicky-”

“No!” Nicky looked up at him. “Stop acting like you’re only doing this out of guilt and do it because you _love him!”_

“Of course I love Joe!” Booker snapped. “You think I don’t recognize everything he’s done for me over the years? I feel like a piece of shit for letting this happen, and I would give _anything_ to trade places with him!”

“And what makes you think that would be better?” Nicky sobs, grabbing Booker’s arm tight enough to leave bruises. “What on _Earth_ makes you think we wouldn’t look just as ferociously for you? What did we _do_ to make you think we don’t _love you?_ ”

Booker stared at him for a long moment, and Nicky sniffs, tears streaming down his face. “We love you, Book. Joe _loves_ you, I’m so sorry we didn’t say it enough.”

“You said it plenty,” Booker said fiercely, grabbing Nicky and holding him close. “I just- I didn’t listen. I’ll listen from now on. I know you love me.”

“I don’t think I can love anyone anymore,” Nicky said, burying his face in Booker’s chest. “Joe’s got my heart. I’m empty.”

“We’ll go get it back,” Booker insisted, kissing the top of his head. “And if it’s gone when we get there, we will burn that mothefucker to the _ground.”_

* * *

If only everything that had happened in the last few months was as easy as getting a library card had been. 

Jackson sits at the computer desk he logged into, chewing on a pen and reading article after article about the Crusades. 

The templar cross in his dreams wasn’t even from there, but there’s something so… horrifyingly interesting about this that he just can't look away. He has to _know._ He has to see what happened. It’s like reading a story that he vaguely remembers. He has to know what happened next. 

He doesn’t even understand what's so fascinating about this. It's awful, the things that happened. It's a cruel and brutal war, and when the ten minute warning pops up on the computer, instead of looking up the templar cross, he sends all his articles to the printer and walks home. 

He opens up a can of pineapple when he gets there, eating while he tapes all his articles up on the wall next to his mattress. 

Amira kept saying he couldn’t call it a bed, since beds required a frame and a headboard and such. Richard and Jackson both rolled their eyes at that. 

It had been New Year’s two days ago, and Jackson had gone over for a big meal and a sleepover with Lil'Jackson. 

It was so, so tempting to throw all this out and wish he could stay.

Jackson pauses on that thought. 

The dreams are lessening, Jackson is settling into a proper routine with his two jobs, he is saving his pennies, he is… happy.

He stares at the wall, then at the apartment around him. The little home he’s so proud of. 

One more week, he decides. He’ll have been in New York for three months. One more week, and he settles into life here and forgets about crusaders and strange dreams.

* * *

Nicky sighed as he waited impatiently for someone to talk to him. He didn’t like hospitals since Merrick - the antiseptic smell brought back bad memories, making him think about what Joe must have been going through for the last few months.

They were starting in New York, since that was where the first lab had been, splitting up to hit every hospital in the city - which was a _lot,_ in the largest city in America. 

Nicky was so. So tired. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this, and that sounded a lot like giving up. 

What would he do if Joe was dead? If he was really gone? How would he _live_ if he didn’t have Joe’s arms around him and his smile in his life? 

“Mister Smith?” 

Nicky picked up his head to see a nurse standing over him, smiling gently. “Hi, my name is Julia. How can I help you?”

“Hello, I’m looking for my husband.” Nicky pulled out his phone and showed her his lock screen. It was a picture of Joe, sitting by a lake and smiling at a duck. Nicky had caught him at such an angle that his face was illuminated by the sunset. Nicky loved that picture. 

“His name is Joe; he would’ve come in with amnesia sometime in the last four months. I’ve been out of my mind looking for him-”

“Jackson,” Julia said, eyes wide. 

Nicky’s heart stopped in his chest, and he stood. “Excuse me?”

“I- he didn’t like getting called John Doe, so we called him Jackson.” Julia fingered the cross necklace around her neck, laughing a little. “He- he said he didn’t want a name from the Bible.”

Nicky’s eyes welled with tears. “Is he here? Do you know where he is? _Please,_ I've been looking for him for _months-“_

“No.” She shook her head. “He left. He was… I guess he was scared of doctors? He accepted some clothes and shoes from our donation box and checked out AMA … twelve weeks ago? Just about three months. I haven’t seen him since.”

“But he was here? You’re sure this is him?”

“He knocked a few doctors on their asses on his way out; I won’t forget him,” Julia said, smiling warmly. “I hope you find him; he was such a nice man…” 

“I will,” Nicky promised her, grabbing his bag and running off. “Thank you, thank you so much!” 

Nicky speed-dialed Copley, racing outside as if he could catch up to Joe on foot. 

“He was here,” he said as soon as Copley answered. “He was here three months ago; he-” Nicky laughed, hysterical and full of hope. “He got out. He’s here, somewhere.” 

Nicky would tear through this city, one of the largest in the world, and he would search every inch of it if it meant finding his heart. 

“Just hold on a little longer, my love,” Nicky whispered. “I’m coming.” 

* * *

Jackson groans when he opens his eyes. His head throbs the moment light hits his face, and he rolls over, burying his face in his pillow.

He should go to work; he knows that. He just doesn’t _want_ to. 

He’s unusually tired, and Jackson knows it’s probably freezing outside. It’s freezing in _here_ , and Jackson is buried under blankets. 

Maybe he should call in sick. He feels like he’s running a fever, he’s full of nervous energy and he has the chills. His joints ache as he drags himself to his feet and makes himself pray. 

He forces himself to dress and walk the five blocks to Waffle House. He’s in a strop, and he hopes his stupid shift goes by quick so he can get some sleep before his garbage crew shift later. 

“Same shit, different day,” Mickayla quips as he passes, and Jackson is inclined to agree.

Or so he thinks.

* * *

They’d split up to cover more ground, but they’d focused their energy on Brooklyn and were working outwards. Booker was trying to correlate the file the hospital had built with records around New York, but it was a big city. 

It was taking too long. 

Nicky was full of nervous energy. He spent his days walking up and down the streets, asking anyone who would listen if they’d seen Joe at all. 

He had to be here somewhere. He had to be. If he wasn’t, Nicky would strangle him when he found him for not staying put. 

Every time he got a text from someone saying they had no luck, his hope wore down a little more, but his energy somehow spiked. 

He would rip New York apart brick by brick. He never liked this city, with its filthy streets and classist ideals. He hated it with a passion ever since it started looking upon his husband with suspicion just for being Muslim. 

He kept going for walks. He kept finding new hotels to stay at and new areas to canvas. He had to keep going, for Joe. 

He was probably somewhere, cold and scared and alone…

* * *

Jackson’s grumpiness digs into his shift, leaving him more than happy to stand silently at the griddle and snap orders at his coworkers. If he’s taking his bad mood out on them, none of them mention it. 

With a sigh, he chucks some hashbrowns on a plate and glances at the clock above the window.

Or at least he’s going to, but the moment he turns his head, he sees a man, an angel, a _god,_ walk by the Waffle House. He’s in profile, but as if drawn by a magnet, he looks at Jackson the same moment Jackson looks at him. Their eyes meet. 

And it’s like a flame goes off, an alarm bell rings, like the popping of a bubble and the falling of a wall _just like the wall outside of Jerusalem when the Crusaders took their holy city-_

_Whispers in his cell after the fifty-ninth time Brian Keane shot him. “My name is Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn Al-Kaysani, I’m married to Nicolo Di Genova, my sun and sky; my family is named Andy, Nile, Booker, Quynh. I am loved; I love them. I-”_

_Meeting Andy and Quynh, traveling with them, his sisters, he loves them so, losing Quynh, helping Andy, following her orders like breathing-_

_“Shut up in there!”_

_Bang. Death._

_Hisses between clenched teeth as his leg knitted itself back together. “My name is Yusuf Al-Kaysani, I’m married to Nicolo Di Genova, my family is Andy, Nile, Booker, Quynh-”_

_Meeting Booker, that sad bastard, becoming friends with him, watching football, losing him-_

_Death._

_Through chattering teeth as Kozak froze him to death. “My name is Yusuf al- al- a- Yusuf, my name is Yusuf, my family’s names are Nicolo di Genova, Andy, Nile, b-b-Booker, and-”_

_Nile, sweet bright vibrant Nile, talking art with her, reading, doing hair, laughing-_

_Death._

_“My name is Yusuf, I’m married to Nicolo-“_

_Nicky’s eyes Nicky’s smile Nicky’s laugh-_

_Death._

_“My name is Yusuf-”_

_Kisses touches hands and feet learning to draw-_

_Death._

_“I’m married to-“_

_Death._

_“Nicolo!”_

_Death._

_“Nicolo, Nicolo, Nicky-”_

_Death._

_“Nicky, Nicky, Nick-”_

_Death._

_Waking up, confused, knowing he needed to remember Something- “Hello! Please! Please, someone, I don’t know where I am or who I am! Please-”_

_“I said_ shut up!”

Yusuf Al-Kaysani drops his spatula and runs for the door. 

* * *

An hour ago, Nicky had decided to give himself a break, take a walk, clear his head. 

Sometimes, in his more joyful moments, he thought of Joe simply smiling his way into a good life here. He had an innate talent with people, the ability to make friends with anyone. Maybe he’d made friends with some rich and powerful businessman and was sitting on a beach in Fiji, sketching and drinking non-alcoholic sangria to his heart's content.

It was a nice thought. Much nicer than the alternative of Joe starving on the streets somewhere, at least.

It was early, too early really, but he hadn’t slept well in four months and had no reason to stay in bed. His stomach growled, reminding him to eat breakfast. He glanced around, nose scrunching as he saw a Waffle House on the corner. He wasn’t that desperate.

And yet.

As he passed the diner, he felt… he felt the gaze of someone staring at him. Either that or it was the crosshairs of a rifle pointed at his back. He secretly reached into his pocket as he scanned the area, feeling for the gun he-

He-

Nicky’s brain shorted out, because Joe was in the goddamn Waffle House. 

He was wearing the uniform and clutching a spatula like it was his lifeline. His face was thin, with sharp cheekbones peeking out from his overgrown beard and the unruly curls barely contained by the hat he was wearing. Tears were welling in those beautiful eyes.

Nicky blinked a few times, certain he was seeing things — but Joe was still there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, so beautiful his very _soul_ ached.

And then Joe dropped the spatula and ran across the building. With a short cry, Nicky ran - he wasn’t sure where he was going, if he was going to go in through the entrance or not - but then stopped short as a door burst open in the alleyway next to the Waffle House and Joe _screamed_ his name-

He was _there,_ warm and solid, and his arms were open and-

Nicky collided with him, wrapped his arms around Joe’s bony shoulders, and _clung_ to every beautiful and beloved inch of him. He pressed his face into every place he could reach - the crook of his neck, the side of his head, his cheek, his mouth - not kissing so much as _inhaling,_ taking him in like a drowning man took in air. The world was made right again. Life was golden and perfect, and he would never _ever_ exist without this again. 

Joe’s knees buckled, and they both hit the ground, holding each other tight enough that nothing would ever separate them-

Nicky was praying, he realized, pressing his forehead into Joe’s and praying over and ove, _“Oh thank you, god, thank you, Jesus, thank you, god, thank you-“_

([Art](https://sunshineandchemistry.tumblr.com/post/642025659003224064/nicky-collided-with-him-wrapped-his-arms-around) by the amazing [sunshineandchemistry](https://sunshineandchemistry.tumblr.com/))

“It’s okay,” Joe gasped as if the words had been dragged from his chest, “it’s okay, it’s all okay now, it’s okay, it’s okay-”

Nicky cut off both their babbling when he grabbed Joe’s curls in his fist and dragged Joe in for a kiss, desperate to taste him again, desperate and needing to know for certain that-

Yes. Yes, this was Joe. The taste of pineapple, of tea- 

_My Yusuf,_ Nicolo’s giddy brain cheered, and Joe cupped his face in his hands, traced the familiar patterns with his fingertips in a manner that could only be _reverent._

“Hey, _Jackson!”_

Joe pulled back, and Nicolo mourned the loss as he looked up through his tears at the woman standing over them. She gesticulated wildly. “Um? _Hello?_ Middle of breakfast rush? I need you in there!”

“Need me?” Joe echoed, sounding dazed, and Nicky realized he was still fisting his hair. He released it, smoothing it down and frowning at how tangled and flat it was. Joe took pride in his hair and always made a point to use the proper products for it. 

“Your _shift, Jackson!”_ the girl hissed, and Joe blinked. “My- shift. Oh! My shift! I-“

He looked back at Nicky, eyes wide. “I’m in the middle of my- Mickayla, I need five minutes.”

The woman, Mickayla, presumably, threw her hands up. “I don’t _have_ five minutes to give you!”

“Four minutes, _please.”_

“You have _two,_ Jackson.”

She went inside, and Joe cupped Nicky’s face again, wiping tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t cry, Nicolo.”

“I missed you so much,” Nicky hiccuped, sobbing like a baby. He wasn’t sure when he started crying, but he couldn’t stop.

“I know,” Joe said, kissing his forehead. “I know, I love you. Come inside; I’ll make you a waffle, and afterwards, I _promise,_ we’ll talk.”

He climbed to his feet and kissed Nicky one last time before he ran inside. 

Nicky stared ahead for a long moment, trying to get his brain working again. For a few brief moments, Joe had been in his arms _,_ and now, he was right back where he was, Joeless and lonely.

But that was stupid. Joe was right inside. Joe offered to make him a waffle. He could go inside right now and watch Joe move and breathe and-

Suddenly, Nicky couldn’t bear being alone anymore. He clambered to his feet and rushed back to the front door, bursting in and staring at Joe as he cracked two eggs on the griddle.

He glanced over his shoulder, gave Nicky a blinding smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners. For the first time in four months, Nicky felt like he could _breathe._

“Can I help you?” asked the bored girl at the register. Nicky realized what a sight he must be, tears and snot running down his face, dirt on his jeans, panting like he’d run a marathon. 

Meekly, he said, “I would like a waffle, please.”

Joe’s snort of laughter was loud enough that Nicky could hear it even as he slapped a hand over his mouth, and Nicky beamed. He was led to a booth by the window. Nicky angled himself so he could watch Joe cook. He wasn’t even sure what he ordered, but Joe cooked it, and when he looked down, he realized there were blueberries. His favorite.

Nicky would live for another eleven thousand years, and for all that time, he’d have to bashfully tell everyone who asked that the best breakfast he ever ate was a blueberry waffle from a twenty-first century diner.

Joe worked through his break, and by the time someone finally replaced him at the griddle, Nicky had eaten about ten waffles. He didn’t even taste them; he just wanted to keep watching Joe. 

When he finally came over and gave Nicky a smile, he held out a hand and said, “Y’know, I wouldn’t have let them kick you out. You didn’t have to keep ordering.” 

Nicky didn’t answer; he didn’t care about anything except grabbing Joe’s offered hand and pressing kiss after kiss to his knuckles. Joe finally dragged him up and outside. Nicky was visibly shaking, and Joe kissed his cheek. “My apartment isn’t far. C’mon, let’s get out of the cold.” 

The walk there was a daze. Nicky didn’t even process that he was brought inside a heavy set of doors and led up three flights of stairs until he was inside a shoddy one-room, with a mattress on the floor in the corner and a tiny kitchen. 

“It’s not much,” Joe shrugged, shuffling awkwardly. “But-“

Nicky whirled around, pinned him to the door and _kissed_ him. Properly. For the first - well, second - time in _four months._

Joe’s knees shook, and if he wasn’t pinned between the door and Nicky, he probably would’ve collapsed. Nicky’s hands clenched in his shirt and his hair, grateful that Joe, of all things, remembered his stupid backwards hat so Nicky could press right up against him from nose to knee. 

He only stopped when his lungs burned for air, and even then, Joe looked up at him with such wonder that Nicky immediately dove back in. Finally, _finally,_ he could breathe.

They stumbled towards the mattress in the corner. They fell over each other's feet, and Nicky hit the ground with a thump. Joe sat up just enough to _laugh-_

Only then, abruptly, the laughter turned to sobs, and Joe pitched forward to cry long and ugly into Nicky’s chest. 

Nicky didn’t question it. He held on and vowed to never let go.

* * *

In the months of living Joe did since waking up in Kozak’s lab, he hasn’t cried. Not once. He was too afraid to, at first, and then he got his jobs, and suddenly, crying felt like an act of despair - if he cried, he was giving up. 

So when Nicky falls and hits the mattress and looks up at him like Joe hung the stars - well. He finally, suddenly- 

It tastes like relief. It burns his eyes as the tightly wound tinker toy of pain in his chest finally starts banging around, letting his battered heart beat steady again in Nicky’s arms. 

He cries for what feels like an hour but is only half. Nicky says nothing, just strokes his hair and back. 

When Joe finally breathes in and doesn’t taste salt, he looks up at Nicky and finds him in exactly the same position - stroking his hands across Joe’s shoulders and through his hair, looking at Joe like he’ll disappear if Nicky so much as blinks.

With a sigh, Joe shifts upwards and kisses him softly, once, twice. 

Then he pulls back and presses his forehead to Nicky’s, and whispers, “I have to go to work.”

Nicky makes an upset noise, grabbing his shoulders a little tighter. “You just _came_ from work.”

“Second job,” Joe says, kissing that mole he hadn’t even remembered to miss. “Sanitation crew.” 

Suddenly, he perks up, beaming. “Actually, _fuck_ those guys. Mickayla gets two weeks, but I’m going in today just to tell _those_ asshats that I quit.”

Nicky, honest to god, grins up at him. “Evil boss?”

“Catholic _and_ a bit racist. I didn’t even know why he pissed me off quite so much.” Joe kisses him again and then climbs to his feet. “I’ll also have to break my lease and get money from one of my accounts in the city-” 

He realizes Nicky hasn’t gotten up after him and looks back to find him staring at the wall.

Joe nudges him, and Nicky looks up, wide-eyed. “You-“

“I was looking for anything,” - Joe shakes his head - “any tiny lead. And I kept having these dreams about the Crusades and this one Catholic who refused to die-”

Nicky clambers to his feet for another kiss, and Joe giggles into it, wrapping his arms around Nicky’s shoulders and feeling like weights have been cut off his feet. His heart speeds up in his chest at the familiar _familiar familiar_ way Nicky bites at his lower lip, the way his nose presses against the line of his beard - his beard, his greasy, overgrown beard. Joe groans, pulling away. “I need a haircut and a shave, holy _shit.”_

“I wondered.” Nicky grins at him, mouths barely inches apart. He fusses with the dirty, heavy mess of curls atop Joe’s head. “You’re always so meticulous about it.” 

“I forgot that I have the money for proper supplies,” Joe sighs, and Nicky laughs and kisses him, again and again and again. 

They finally leave after many kisses, after Joe is late for his garbage shift and hasn’t even called. Poor Andrew, all alone. Joe can’t bring himself to feel _too_ guilty - he’s all too happy to never go back there again. He’ll send him and his family some money anonymously later, maybe buy them a house. 

They go down ten blocks to the nearest drop box. Years and years ago, Booker and Andy had the brilliant idea to leave identifications, cash and clothing in various spots around the world, so that there’s always a fake ID nearby.

“Y’know,” Joe grumbles as he pries the loose brick out of place with Nicky’s knife, “this would’ve been really handy three months ago.” 

“I can imagine,” Nicky sighs, helping him. They get the brick out and pull out the bag, opening up the pair of wallets. 

“Alright then, Mr. Joseph Roberts.” Nicky kisses his nose. “Let me buy you lunch?”

 _“God_ yes.” Joe laughs, kissing him again.

* * *

They got Joe a haircut and the most stupidly expensive meal they could find. The restraunt has fancy tablecloths and little pallet clensers between meals and Nicky spent the whole meal laughing with him. Then they stopped by the mosque while they were out, and Nicky sat patiently in the front area while Joe prayed.

He forced himself to breathe through the moments when Joe wasn’t beside him. He counted the seconds, telling himself over and over that it would be fine, Joe would come out as soon as he was done, _stop being foolish, Nicolo._

He didn’t think he could be blamed for his clinginess. It had been four months and he’d found Joe in a _Waffle House._ Nothing about this situation was normal. 

Sure enough, Joe came out no later than normal, joined by a woman wearing a hijab. They were talking excitedly, and the moment Nicky stood, Joe broke out into a wide grin and led her over. “Amira, this is Nicky, my _husband_. Nicky, this is Amira Mowad. She and her husband gave me my first warm meal after two weeks on the streets.”

“I’m so happy you found him,” Amira gushed. “Jackson- oh, sorry, _Joe’s_ been such a good friend to me and Richard; he even babysat our son once or twice.”

She laughs, and Nicky leans forward to gently take her hand and kiss it. 

“Thank you,” he says seriously. “Thank you for taking care of the love of my life.”

“Aww, you’re adorable!” Amira hugged Joe’s arm, smiling at Nicky. 

“I was just telling her how we have to get back to Rome after I finish my two weeks at Waffle House.” Joe winked at him, and Nicky nodded. “Right, we have to get back to work. Joe’s an art historian, curates a museum.”

“Oh, this from the man who swore he couldn’t cook a waffle.” Amira laughed, nudging Joe. “Oh, speaking of - you guys _have_ to join me and Richard for dinner before you guys leave.”

“We’d love to!” Joe said, and Nicky took his hand. 

“Can we bring guests? We have a lot of family who have all been looking for this one.” 

“Did you call them?” Joe asked, eyes wide. Nicky smiled warmly at him, enjoying the excitement in his husband’s eyes. He kissed his cheek. 

“They’ll be here in a few days. We spread out to find you.”

“You just give me a headcount the next time you see me.” Amira chuckled. “Joe knows where we live.” 

They said goodbye, and Nicky clung to Joe’s hand as they walked back to Joe’s apartment. “She seems nice.”

“She is. Super nice. _Nile_ nice.” 

Nicky laughed, then turned to him. “Speaking of… I _kinda_ lied to your friend.”

“Well, yeah, I haven’t worked for a museum in a long time-”

“No, no.” Nicky shrugged as they headed down Joe’s street. “I lied about our family being so spread out. We knew you were in New York after all.” 

_“Joe!”_ Nile shrieked as she jumped off the steps of Joe’s apartment building. 

Joe burst out laughing and opened his arms, letting her tackle him in a hug and swinging her around. “Oh _Nile!”_

Nicky laughed, swiping at his tears. “Joe, there’s a surprise for you upstairs, if you feel like letting go of Nile any time soon.”

“Nope, _never,”_ Nile said into Joe’s shoulder, and he nodded, squeezing her tight.

“Alright, alright,” Andy said from the doorway. “Let us have our turns.” 

Nile sniffed but let him go, and Andy came down the stairs. Joe smiled at her. “You look good, boss.”

Andy laughed wryly and drew him into a tight hug. “You look fucking _perfect,_ Joe. Never _ever_ do that to me again.” 

“Are you kidding? I’m never leaving _the house_ after all this. Also, let’s never come back to America. Ever. 

_“Hey!”_ Nile cried, and Nicky hugged her, laughing too hard to keep standing. He felt hysterically happy, with Joe home and his family here. 

Joe stepped back from Andy’s hug. “What’s this big surprise any h…”

Quynh came down the stairs, followed by Booker, and Joe froze.

Andy came to stand with Nicky and Nile while Quynh walked forward slowly. 

“... I must say, Yusuf, I cannot _believe_ what you’ve done to your head.” Quynh’s smile was wide, but she sounded close to tears. “I mean, really. What am I supposed to play with now? I go away for a few hundred years, and everyone cuts their hair!” 

Joe choked out a sob, and Quynh darted forward for a tight hug. 

Andy wrapped an arm around Nicky’s waist. “Finally. Whole family’s together.” 

Nicky kissed her cheek, and Quynh passed Joe off to Booker, who just stared at him.

“... uh-”

“Book, I swear to god, just _hug me-”_

As they did, they shifted enough for Joe to look at Nicky over Booker’s shoulder. 

He smiled. Nicky was so in love with him it _ached._

* * *

Two weeks later, Joe sits on Richard and Amira’s porch, staring at the sky. 

All his family is in one place. His memory is still coming back in fits and starts, but he has Nicky there to hold him through the nightmares and his family in the next room every night. 

He’s done a lot over the last couple of weeks. He’s broken his lease, worked, and left the garbage crew. He’s tied up all his loose ends except… 

He glances back through the screen door to Amira, who had shooed him out of the kitchen when he tried to help with plates. 

Joe sighs. He has no idea what to say to them - never calling again feels wrong, staying in contact is a terrible idea. He feels so conflicted and exhausted and _overwhelmed;_ he’s _finally_ with his family again, and he’s so overwhelmed that he can’t even-

“Hey.” Nicky comes out and sits next to him. “You okay?” 

And everything is okay so long as Nicky is here. 

Joe smiles tiredly at him. “I’m not sure how to say goodbye.” 

“So don’t.” Nicky shifts closer to him. “We leave, we send a few letters, and we die mysteriously in a home invasion.” Joe’s shocked into a laugh, and Nicky chuckles. “Seriously though, you don’t have to say goodbye yet. We can keep in contact-”

“No.” Joe shakes his head. “No. It’s- it would be too hard; I care about them too much.”

“We’ve had mortal friends before.” Nicky kisses his hand. “What’s different?”

“I don’t want to think about this.” Joe sniffs. “I don’t want to think about my apartment or my jobs or how hungry I was-”

Nicky kisses him silent. 

They slip apart, and Joe presses his forehead to Nicky’s. “I forgot you. How did I- I _forgot_ you.”

He phrases it like an admission of guilt, and Nicky shakes his head against him. 

“I know,” Nicky kisses his nose “but I found you again. I always will.”

“What if I- what if I hadn’t remembered? If I-”

“Then I would’ve still found you,” - Nicky grabs his hands - “and I would’ve loved you anyway. Loving you is the only option available to me.” 

Joe’s laugh is tinged with tears. “And you call _me_ incurable.”

“Oh my love, this isn’t romanticism. It is _fact._ My heart has lived within you for nine hundred and twenty years. Even if you don’t remember, it’s there.”

What else can Joe do but kiss him for that.

In the space between them, minuscule and somehow too much to bear all at once, Joe whispers, “Take me home, Nicky.”

“Of course.” 

They leave that night. They don’t come back. 

* * *

“Come back to bed.”

Nicky looked over to the bed, where Joe was laying on his stomach, hugging his pillow under his head. Nicky smiled at him and crossed the room, climbing back into the bed to kiss Joe again and again and again. 

“Mm… how’d you sleep?” Nicky asked, and Joe grinned at him. 

“No nightmares that I can remember. You?”

“Perfectly, with you next to me.”

Joe grinned and kissed him again, chasing his lips when he pulled away.

“Come. Breakfast.”

Joe whined, dragging Nicky back down onto the bed and rolling them over so he was on top of Nicky’s chest. His weight was coming back nicely - a month making sure everything was back and okay with their family before Andy kicked them out to recover in Malta had done him well. Nicky caressed a cheek, silently thanking god that he no longer had to be haunted by Joe’s gaunt face and pointed cheekbones.

“If I never have to make anyone breakfast again, it’ll be too soon,” Joe said, nose scrunching up. Nicky gently tapped it with the tip of his finger - a gesture Nile had called a _boop._ It never failed to make Joe smile.

“I meant that I would cook for you, _hayati,”_ Nicky said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “As I have for the last month.”

“Ah, yes, your not-so-secret mission to single-handedly get me fat,” Joe teased, kissing the base of Nicky’s sternum. “How’s that going?”

“I’d say it’s going well, considering you’re crushing me,” Nicky deadpanned, then yelped when Joe pinched his side in retaliation. Joe darted up to kiss him senseless, and Nicky completely forgot about breakfast for a while.

Later, Joe was lying with his head on Nicky’s stomach, and Nicky was stroking his hair, propped up against the headboard and drinking coffee. 

“You didn’t pray this morning,” Nicky said softly, and Joe snorted. 

“If you're thinking about prayer after what we just did, should I be flattered or concerned?”

Nicky rolled his eyes and gave his hair a little tug, waiting to see if he would answer. Since his return, Joe had been strict in his faith - five prayers a day, following halal to the letter. He still didn’t let Nicky touch his beard.

“I guess I thought.” Joe hesitated, and Nicky ran a thumb across his forehead, smoothing the concerned wrinkles there.

“I guess I thought… well. Before, I wasn’t… I mean, I was _Muslim,_ obviously, but not like…”

He trailed off, looking at Nicky to make sense of his words. This was, in Nicky’s opinion, the most heart-rending change to Joe. Words didn’t come as easy now, and while it was getting better, it would take more than a handful of weeks and a trip to Malta to beat back the trauma. Nicky wished he could kill Brian Keane all over again.

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Joe said, unable to look Nicky in the eye. “I want to be… _me_ again, not Jackson Doe.” 

“I would never begrudge you your faith, Yusuf,” Nicky said, cupping his cheek and gently turning his head so he could see the sincerity in Nicky’s face. “You certainly never begrudged me mine.”

“I remember.” Joe’s lips quirked up and Nicky’s heart warmed - those were Joe’s favorite words now. Nicky’s too. Nicky bent down to kiss him. “Give it time, my love; it’s only been a month.”

“I know,” Joe sighed, then turned so he could sit up with Nicky. “You know what I haven’t remembered? The day I got… taken. I remember getting off the plane in Russia and then - nothing. Just waking up in that damn cell.” 

Nicky looked away, and Joe took his hand, thumb stroking across the back.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful but… what was the last thing I said?”

“Give my love to Nicky, boss,” Nicky recited automatically, and Joe frowned. Nicky glanced at him. “Once you realized you were being followed, you gave me a coded message over the phone. You acted like you were calling Andy. Before you left the house, the last thing you said was that you loved me.”

“Oh.” Joe nodded. “Good.”

They were quiet, and then Joe said, “I saw Kozak.”

Nicky looked at him - Joe had that far-away gaze, the one he got when he was remembering something. 

“I saw Kozak in the marketplace,” Joe said. “She walked right up to me, smiled like we were friends. And I thought- I thought, oh god, she’s going to follow me back to Nicky.” 

His voice trembled, and Nicky squeezed his hand. Joe kept talking. “I was so happy when you answered the phone - I thought she’d gotten you already. I needed to let you know somehow without her knowing. She convinced me she had you, early on. Convinced me you were right in the cell next to me, and I clawed at the wall until my fingers were bloody-”

“Come back to me,” Nicky said softly, rubbing circles onto Joe’s arm. “Come back to me, baby; it’s just a memory.”

Joe shuddered and looked at him, trembling a little.

“She’s dead now,” Nicky reminded, and Joe nodded. “She’s dead.”

Nicky hugged him tightly, then climbed out of bed, holding out a hand. “Brunch. And then a long walk on the beach - sitting in bed all day is no way to get your muscles back.”

“Thought you wanted me fat.” Joe laughed. And then he reached out and took Nicky’s hand.

They left the bedroom together.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr: www.flamingbluepanda.tumblr.com  
> The Old Guard Big Bang: www.oldguardbigbang2021.tumblr.com  
> The FABULOUS emily: www.sunshineandchemisty.com
> 
> I love you!!


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